And all this time, it
must not be forgotten, the Elsinore was dashing ahead through the
sea.
The only sail she carried was three upper-topsails. Not the tiniest
triangle of headsail was on her. I had never seen her with so little
wind-surface, and the three narrow strips of canvas, bellied to the
seemingness of sheet-iron with the pressure of the wind, drove her
before the gale at astonishing speed.
As the water on the deck subsided the men on the fife-rail left their
refuge. One group, led by the redoubtable Mr. Pike, strove to
capture a mass of planks and twisted steel. For the moment I did not
recognize what it was. The carpenter, with two men, sprang upon
Number Three hatch and worked hurriedly and fearfully. And I knew
why Captain West had turned tail to the storm. Number Three hatch
was a wreck. Among other things the great timber, called the
"strong-back," was broken. He had had to run, or founder. Before
our decks were swept again I could make out the carpenter's emergency
repairs. With fresh timbers he was bolting, lashing, and wedging
Number Three hatch into some sort of tightness.
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